Holding Hands
by Kinsey Adelaide
Summary: Bruce and Dick father/son fluff. I'm leaving it "in-progress" in case I feel inspired to add more vignettes.
1. Chapter 1

**This was inspired by an advice column in which a mother wondered how to keep people from cutting her off from her children when out in public. The solution – hold hands! I also think children on public transportation are so cute, so I added that as well.**

**The usual disclaimers apply.**

**Holding Hands**

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><p>Dick Grayson's childish eyes widened as he gazed about him at all the food and festive decorations filling the entrance hall of the Gotham City Museum of Art. Today was the Saturday afternoon launch of a special exhibit of Impressionist paintings. Naturally, the Wayne Foundation was paying for the exhibit, which meant that Bruce was the museum's guest of honor that day. Bruce, Dick, and a couple hundred other movers and shakers of Gotham would get to preview the exhibit before it opened to the public on Monday.<p>

Even though he was only a kid, Dick was actually excited to be there (although he would have been rather more excited if Alfred hadn't insisted he wear a suit). He would get to spend the entire afternoon eating delicious food (especially the desserts), as well as see some pretty fancy paintings. Although Dick didn't yet have a fine appreciate of art, he thought Impressionist paintings were pretty cool. Plus, he remembered that his Dad had really liked Monet, Manet, Cezanne, and such, so he felt obligated to go and see the paintings. In fact, if his memory served him right, he had seen a few of these paintings before in London at The National Gallery. He had visited there once with his dad. Maybe seeing these paintings would give him a momentary connection with his dad again.

Thoughts like that made Dick feel a bit sad, though, so he decided to focus his attention on the giant ice sculpture, which seemed to be of a man's face. However, the man was missing an ear, which puzzled Dick. He would have to ask Bruce about that.

As if on cue, Bruce appeared beside Dick at that moment. "Dick, I need to go talk to the museum curator, okay?"

Dick nodded obediently and allowed Bruce to shepherd him towards another part of the hall. When they came to an out-of-the-way bench, Bruce plunked Dick down on it and told him, "Wait right there. I'll be back in a minute." Then he hurried off before Dick could ask him about the earless ice sculpture.

With a slightly-irritated sigh, Dick settled in to wait. And wait and wait and wait. Growing increasingly annoyed at his guardian, Dick let his mind wander.

* * *

><p>Dick Grayson was five years old, and it was his first time in London with the circus. The particular Tuesday in question was the first free day the circus performers had gotten since their arrival, and all of the Graysons were eager to get out and about in central London. Mary wanted to be glamorous and go window-shopping (and maybe, just maybe, do a little actually shopping) at some of the city's famous department stores – Harrods, Selfridges, Liberty, and Fortnum and Mason. John, on the other hand, was much less inclined to shop, and was particularly grateful that he could use Dick as an escape. No one wanted to take a five-year-old boy shopping all day. So the family decided to split up for a few hours, with Mary going shopping and John and Dick heading out to a few of London's free museums.<p>

Since the circus was camped quite a way from the center of town, Dick and John had a long subway ride ahead of them. While Dick was content to gaze in wonder at the train car for a time, he soon became bored.

"Daddy, where are we? Why is it so dark?"

When John explained they were traveling in a tunnel underground, Dick then wanted to know, "Why are we underground?"

John answered as best as he could, but that only prompted Dick to ask more questions.

"Why is the train so loud?"

"Why is it so hot down here?"

"What language are those people speaking?" Dick pointed at some fellow travelers.

With a sigh, John pulled a pocket-sized map of the Underground system out of his pocket. He waved it in front of Dick's face.

"Look at this Dick. Do you want to see where we're going?"

Enraptured by the brightly-colored lines running across the page, Dick reached for the map, while excitedly shouting, "Yes!"

John handed Dick the map. "We're on the brown line. See?" He pointed to the brown line.

"What's it called?" Dick asked.

"It's called the Bakerloo Line." John peered down at the map and pointed at a station. "We're going here."

"What's it called?"

"You can read it," John encouraged. Mary was teaching Dick how to read.

Dick held the map up close to his face and squinted. "Ch, ch, ch... char..."

"Chair," John corrected gently, realizing tube stop names weren't the easiest things for youngsters to read.

"Chair-ing cr, cr, cross. Charing Cross!" Dick was delighted with himself, beaming up at his father.

John ruffled Dick's hair. "Good boy. Now follow the path we're taking to get there."

Dick obediently traced his finger along the brown line.

"Now where does the red line take you?" John asked, smiling as Dick eagerly turned his attention to the small map and began tracing the red line with his finger.

For the next several minutes, Dick was completely absorbed with the map, tracing the different colored lines over and over again with his finger. There were so many lines! And they went so far! He was quite impressed with the colorful map.

John, on the other hand, was just grateful for a few moments of peace.

As the train pulled away from the Piccadilly Circus stop, John turned to Dick. "Okay, Dickie, we're the next stop. Now it's going to be crowded so make sure you hold my hand."

Dick made a pouty face, immediately crossed his arms, and tucked his little hands up in his armpits. "I don't wanna hold hands."

"But you don't want to get lost, do you?"

"I won't get lost. I'm not a baby."

"Well, I might get lost. Will you hold my hand, Dickie, and make sure I don't get lost?" John made a sad face, complete with puppy-dog eyes.

Dick giggled at his father's silly expression. "Okay, Daddy. I," he pointed at himself, "will look out for you," he finished, pointing at his father.

John just smiled, glad his "reasoning" had placated the child. At that moment, the train started to slow down, then entered the station. "Time to go," John announced, standing up.

Dick scooted to the edge of his seat so that his feet touched the ground. He then slid off and grasped his father's hand. The two walked to the door, their natural grace keeping them perfectly balanced even as the train lurched to a halt.

As a crisp, pre-recorded British voice reminded passengers to "mind the gap," John swung his small son over the empty space between the door of the train and the platform. "Wheee," Dick said delightedly. Even though he was used to much more adventurous swinging, he was still a child and could still delight in the simple things.

With a firm hold on Dick's hand, John maneuvered through the crowds to the escalator, out the barriers, and up into the sunlight of Trafalgar Square.

"Wooooow," Dick breathed as he beheld the giant lions, gurgling fountains, and towering column of Lord Admiral Nelson.

"Impressive, isn't it?" John commented, as he nudged Dick away from the Tube Station entrance and towards the National Gallery.

Turning Dick around, so that he faced away from the museum, John pointed out the street called Whitehall. "And at the end of this road is Parliament, which is sort of like Congress. Do you remember Congress, Dickie?" Dick had been to Washington, D.C. twice before, but John wasn't sure the boy remembered.

Dick wasn't really paying attention, though. He was tugging his father towards the fountains, where several pigeons were sitting, placidly eating out of tourists' hands.

"And down there, through that arch," John pointed at a fancy arch to the right of Whitehall, "is the queen's house."

That caught Dick's attention. Queens were much more interesting than Congress – he knew his fairly tales! "Can we go see her?" Dick asked eagerly.

John laughed and ruffled Dick's hair. "No, she's busy right now."

"Oooh." Dick looked a trifle disappointed. "Maybe next time, Daddy?"

John just laughed again. "Sure, Dickie, next time."

Turning back around, John began to stroll towards the museum, while Dick kept his eyes fixed on the pigeons. His father was telling him something about the museum, but he wasn't listening. He really wanted to feed those birds, just like he fed the animals at the circus.

As they worked their way through the throngs of photo-snapping tourists, John noticed that his shoelace had come untied. Moving out of the flow of traffic, he dropped Dick's hand. "Now don't run off, Dickie; Daddy just needs to tie his shoe."

Dick nodded but his mind was elsewhere. As his father bent down to tie his shoe, a group of people moved away from a cluster of pigeons – but the pigeons stayed put, squawking for someone else to come feed them. Dick was drawn like a sailor to a siren, and he darted off. He hadn't gotten very far, though, when a strong hand enclosed his.

"Richard, I thought I told you to hold my hand and not run off," John said sternly.

Dick looked down at his shoes. He hated to disappoint daddy. "I just wanted to see the birdies," he said softly.

"Well we can see the birds together," John stated, scooping Dick up and placing him on the rim of the fountain next to the pigeons. Although a few flew away, startled by the sudden intrusion, several welcomed the newcomer as a potential source of food. John pulled a small packet of sunflower seeds from his pocket, opened them, and gave them to Dick. "Here, give them these."

Dick giggled delightedly as he spent the next few minutes throwing sunflower seeds at the none-too-shy pigeons. When all the seeds were gone, John asked if Dick was ready to visit the art museum.

"Uh-huh," Dick nodded, dusting off his hands.

"Will you be a good boy and hold my hand?"

Dick frowned and crossed his arms obstinately. "Daddy, I'm not a baby!"

"Of course not. But you could still get lost, so we need to hold hands."

Dick shook his head. "No, holding hands is for babies."

"Aww, is that what you think? That holding hands is for babies?"

Dick very solemnly nodded yes.

"Holding hands isn't for babies. It's for people who love each other – like daddies and their boys." When Dick only looked slightly less skeptical, John continued. "And people who are buddies, who are there for each other through thick and thin. People who are partners; who are a team."

Dick perked up on the word "team." "Like you and me and mommy when we're on the trapeze?"

"Exactly!" John boomed enthusiastically, overjoyed he was finally getting through to Dick. He made a forlorn face. "Don't you want people to know that we're a team?"

"Yes!" Dick practically shouted. "You're my team! My daddy!"

"Well, then, you better hold my hand so that everyone knows it." John held his hand out to his son. "Shall we?"

Dick tightly grabbed his father's hand, calling out "whee" as John swung him down from the edge of the fountain.

"So this means we're partners, huh?" Dick asked, gesturing at his small hand, which was tightly enclosed in his father's.

John smiled down at his son as they started to climb the steps to the National Gallery. "Yes, but it also means something even better. It means we're family."

* * *

><p>"Sorry about that, Dick," Bruce apologized quickly as he reappeared.<p>

"It's okay," Dick said, hopping down from the bench on which he had been stationed. "Let's go. I want some cake and punch!"

Bruce cracked a small, indulgent smile. "Sure thing, chum. But it's crowded out there, so give me your hand. I don't want you getting lost."

Dick's defenses were up immediately. He was eight for crying out loud!

Crossing his arms and attempting a Bat-glare, Dick hissed, "I'm not a baby."

Confused, Bruce replied, "I never said you were. But there's a lot of people out there; you could get lost."

"I won't get lost."

Bruce started to panic a little on the inside, although he kept up his remarkably calm exterior. He really didn't appreciate Dick pulling a stunt like this right now, though. Maybe eight was a little old for holding hands (not that he would know), but he couldn't afford to have the kid get lost. Not when there were dozens of reporters at the museum, all of whom would eagerly jump all over any hint that he was an inadequate parent.

"Well, I need you to keep me from getting lost," Bruce lamely attempted.

Dick grinned slightly – only to quickly suppress it. "You won't get lost. Everyone knows you."

Bruce couldn't argue with that. Time to try a different tactic. "Well, I still need you to hold my hand." Maybe just asserting his parental authority would work?

Dick shook his head. "No. Holding hands is for babies. And I'm eight."

Ahh, so that was the crux of the matter. Dick didn't want to look like a little kid.

So Bruce just needed to point out to Dick that plenty of people held hands. "Okay, what's a good example," Bruce mused. Unfortunately, all he could come up with were romantic examples and that was most certainly not going to work. And the whole time Dick was standing there, arms cross, defiance written all over his face. "Oh, boy," Bruce mentally sighed.

"Dick all kinds of people hold hands. It isn't just for babies. It's for ... everyone," he finished lamely.

"Like who?" Dick demanded.

"Like..." "Think, Bruce, think!" he internally berated himself. "Like partners."

For a moment, Bruce silently cursed. "You were not supposed to bring up romantic relationships!" he mentally scolded himself. But then he noticed that a change had come over Dick. The boy had considerably brightened.

"Partners?" he asked hopefully.

Imagining that Dick was thinking of Batman and Robin, Bruce nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, partners, teammates, guys who have each other's backs."

Dick was smiling. Now where had he heard words like that before? "Must be a Dad thing," he mused. A Dad Thing. And surely eight wasn't too old to stop holding hands with your daddy? Quickly deciding that you weren't too old to hold hands with your dad until you were at least nine, Dick uncrossed his arms and held out his hand.

"Family?" he queried hopefully.

Bruce reached out and took Dick's hand. He gave it a squeeze while simultaneously ruffling the boy's hair. "Family," he confirmed. "Always."

Dick favored Bruce with a big grin.

"Let's go!" he said, adjusting his grip on Bruce's hand and pulling his guardian/second father towards the opening gala. "I really want some cake!"

With a smile of relief, Bruce allowed himself to be dragged towards the food table. "All right, let's get some cake."

After enjoying the refreshments, Bruce (still holding Dick's hand) worked his way through the crowd, socializing with all the people Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist, needed to be seen socializing with. And although Dick found it a bit boring, he always felt a rush of happiness whenever Bruce would lovingly smile down at him and affectionately introduce him to yet another socialite. He was part of a family again.

Maybe holding hands wasn't so bad after all.

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><p><strong>I hope that wasn't too terribly swell. Anyway, I'll leave this story "in progress" in case I feel inspired to add any more fluffy tales.<strong>


	2. Animal Visitors

**So this is just a ridiculous little tale that popped into my head after learning about the old cartoon **_**Krypto the Superdog**_**. All you really need to know is that Krypto has a supercat friend named Streaky and they are friends with Ace the Bathound.**

**Happy April Fools' Day! Today seemed like a good excuse to post a silly story.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters.**

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><p>"Where is he?" Streaky the Supercat asked impatiently.<p>

"I don't know," Krypto the Superdog replied. "But it isn't like Ace to be late."

"I hope nothing happened," Streaky purred before beginning to groom himself for the fifth time in a row.

"Nothing out of the ordinary happened," said a gruff voice, as Ace the Bathound appeared from behind a row of bushes.

"Yeah, we just had to tussle with the Joker's rascally hyenas," tweeted Robbie the Robin, the erstwhile and unappreciated sidekick of Ace (technically, Ace found the little bird to be a nuisance, but the kid kept hanging around).

"So can we get going?" Krypto asked eagerly. "I can't wait to meet your junior partner!"

"Me either!" chirped Robbie. "I've waited so long to meet Robin! He's my hero." He flapped his wings and flew around in a few ecstatic, hyper-active circles.

Ace frowned. "Thankfully the real Robin isn't even half as annoying as you," he barked under his breath.

Once Robbie had calmed down and landed on Ace's back, the Bathound announced that there were a few ground rules to go over first.

"One: don't make too much noise. Batman doesn't really like it when I bring over visitors." Ace couldn't bring himself to say "friends."

"But the little one wants to see us, right?" Krypto asked. The way Ace had talked, his junior human partner had been begging to meet them all.

"Oh yes, he does. But the less Batman knows the better."

"Will there be treats?" Streaky meowed. "You said there would be treats."

"There will be treats," Ace sighed. "Robin is good with treats." Sometimes the kid was a little too good. Ace sighed again remembering that just the other day Batman had looked at him – him! the glorious Bathound! – and commented that he needed to cut back on the Science Diet. "No one wants a chubby Bathound," Batman had said.

"Any other rules?" Krypto pulled Ace off memory lane.

"Oh, yes. Two: do not nip or scratch or bite or claw Robin. He's just a kid and can be playful, but you are the adult animals and it's your responsibility to not injure him. If you do, even if Robin doesn't notice or say anything, Batman will find out and he will be angry." Ace paused again, recalling one of the first times he had played with Dick. They had been romping on the living room floor and Ace had given Dick a little nip on the arm. Although Dick had just laughed it off and continued playing, Bruce had been angry. Ace had never come so close to being sent to the pound.

"And three: don't touch anything. At all. Ever." Ace looked ferociously at Krypto and Streaky to emphasize his points.

"Okay, we can handle that. Right Streaky?"

Streaky just nodded in agreement.

"I agree, too!" cried Robbie, whom Ace had (mercifully) almost forgotten about.

"Alright then. Let's go. And remember – keep quiet."

* * *

><p>Eight-year old Dick was dressed in his Robin costume and coloring as he not-so-patiently waited for Batman to finish his work on the computer. Dick really just wanted to go out on patrol. It was already after seven o'clock!<p>

Dick was just about to ask Bruce, for the two hundredth time, "can we go now?" when he heard Ace entering the cave.

Immediately laying aside his crayons, Dick raced over to Ace's part of the cave. "Ace!" he cried joyously.

Back at the computer, Bruce sighed in relief. Ace would keep Dick occupied for at least ten minutes; maybe fifteen if he played his cards right.

As the bright red, green, and yellow clad boy came into view, Ace barked, "Remember the rules!"

Dick skipped over, calling out in a sing-song way, "Ace, I have a treat for –" He stopped short when he saw Ace had brought guests.

His eyes wide with excitement, Dick dashed over to a metal cabinet and pulled out a jar of treats. He then produced a small packet of cat treats and some birdseed from this same cabinet. Krypto, Streaky, and Robbie were all impressed at Robin's preparedness. Ace, however, had come to regard it as _de rigueur_ for any member of the Bat-family.

"Who do we have here?" Dick asked quietly, as he approached the new animals. "Are you Ace's friends?"

Dick carefully set his pile of treats down and began to pet the animals. Streaky began to purr almost immediately, which charmed Dick to no end.

"Who are you?" he asked, picking Streaky up. He looked at the cat's collar and read the tag. "Streaky, huh? Nice to meet you Streaky." And Dick promptly sat down on the floor and deposited Streaky on his lap. Streaky purred vigorously.

Krypto now came up to Dick, who began to scratch him behind the ears. "Hello," he paused to check the tag on the dog's collar, "Krypto."

His eyes suddenly widened with realization. "You're Superman's dog." Dick was filled with awe. "Have a treat." Dick wrenched opened the jar and fed several treats to Krypto, all the while giddy with joy to be feeding Superman's puppy. Krypto happily ate one treat after the other; when he thought about it, Ace was really lucky to have a little human partner in addition to his big one.

Tired of being ignored by his hero, Robbie began to chirp, earning him a glare from Ace. Remembering the rules, Robbie began to chirp more quietly as he fluttered through the air and landed on Robin's arm.

"A Robin – just like me!" Dick tentatively reached towards the bird and was delighted when he was allowed to touch it. "Have some birdseed, little Robbie."

Robbie twittered delightedly thanks to the birdseed and Robin's ability to guess his name.

Streaky now meowed, prompting Dick to feed him a ridiculous amount of kitty treats. Once Streaky had settled down and was purring again, Dick called to Ace.

"Ace, come here, boy."

Ace loped over to Dick, who offered him a treat. Ace eagerly ate it. Krypto, who has been lying quietly next to Dick, raised his head and sniffed in the direction of the treats.

Dick laughed. "You want some, too, Krypto?" And he began to pull treat after treat out of the jar, rotating them between Ace and Krypto.

As the dogs gorged themselves on treats, Robbie nibbled away at his birdseed, and Streaky contentedly purred, all the animals decided that Robin, junior human partner of the Batman, was definitely a friend worth having.

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><p>Concerned because Dick had been so quiet for so long, Bruce left the computer and went searching for the boy. He found him seated cross-legged on the damp cave floor, a cat on his legs, a robin on his shoulder, and a dog lying on either side of him. Dick was merrily conversing with the animals and plying them with an excessive amount of treats.<p>

"So that's why Ace is so fat," Bruce mused.

"Dick?"

With perfect grace and poise, so as not to disturb either Streaky or Robbie, Dick slowly turned to face Bruce. "Bruce, look! Ace brought his friends over!"

"I can see that," Bruce said with forced cheerfulness.

"This is Streaky," Dick gushed, rather unceremoniously picking up the cat and thrusting him towards Bruce.

"And this is Krypto." Streaky was cast aside as Dick coaxed Krypto towards Bruce.

"And this is Robbie – I think. He doesn't have a collar. But he's Ace's partner just like I'm your partner!" Unlike the other two animals, Robbie chirped joyfully when Dick mentioned his name.

"That's very nice, Dick," Bruce said calmly, although he was shooting daggers at the animals. "But they need to go now."

"Awww, but why?"

"It's time for patrol."

"Really? Yippee!" Dick jumped to his feet and dashed over to Bruce.

Bruce frowned slightly at the state of his ward's costume. Dick's green shorts and red vest were covered in cat hair and the bird seemed to have dirtied the boy's cape. Not to mention Dick's bottom was damp from sitting on the cave floor. Bruce silently thanked his lucky stars that Alfred was not in the cave to see Dick in such a state.

"Better go change first, chum."

Dick looked confused. "But I'm already in my costume."

"I know, youngster. But you're a little … dirty."

"I'm sure the crooks won't care."

Bruce reached over and ruffled Dick's unruly hair. "No, but I care. Besides, you're wet on the bottom and we can't have you catching cold. Imagine how upset Alfred would be."

Dick nodded solemnly. "Alfred would be upset," he admitted.

"So go change."

"Okay!" Dick raced off to the changing rooms, shouting goodbyes to Krypto, Streaky, Robbie, and Ace as he went.

As Robin ran off, Batman turned to glare at Ace and the other animals. "Out, now," he growled.

When Ace started to slink away with the others, Bruce called out, "Not you, Ace. Get back here."

Ace cast a forlorn glance at his exiting comrades and trotted back to Batman.

Batman crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the dog. "Ace, you know better than to bring a bunch of animal friends over. Now Dick's going to be asking if we can get a kitten or a puppy or – God forbid – a bird. You don't want that, do you?"

Ace hung his head to let Bruce know that not only was he sorry for bringing over uninvited friends but he also didn't want any new pets at Wayne Manor.

"I didn't think so," Bruce said in a gentler tone, reaching out to give Ace a scratch behind the ears. "But you've given me an extra headache. Dick will be pestering me for days."

"I'm ready!" Dick shouted.

"Meet me at the Batmobile," Bruce replied. Ace followed at Batman's heels as the Dark Knight purposefully strode over to the car.

"Bruce, can we get a kitty?" Dick asked as he turned a few cartwheels on his way over to the car.

Bruce cast a baleful glance at Ace before answering. "No."

"Aww, why not?"

"Ace doesn't like cats."

"That's not true!" Dick insisted, coming over to pet Ace. "Ace's a good boy, aren't you Ace?"

Ace barked happily in reply. Dick knew just the right place to scratch him behind the ears.

"The answer is still no."

"Awww."

"One pet is more than enough."

"I guess," Dick reluctantly agreed. "And Ace is awful special. And smart."

At the mention of being smart, Ace raised a paw and clawed gently at a particular compartment on Dick's utility belt. Dick laughed.

"You want a treat, Ace?" With a grin, Dick took out a treat and gave it to Ace.

Bruce sighed. "You're making him fat, Dick. Now into the car." As Dick did a flying leap into the passenger seat, Bruce turned back to Ace.

"No more treats for you," he announced.

Ace whined to show how much he would miss his treats.

"Aww, Bruce, you're making him sad," Dick said from inside the Batmobile.

Bruce jumped into the driver's seat. "Well that's too bad. He needs to go on a diet."

Ace whined again but Bruce ignored him. Dick, however, stuck his little head out the car window and winked at Ace, just before the Batmobile zoomed off.

With a happy bark, Ace went to lie down on his bat—shaped dog bed. Dick's conspiratorial wink had reminded him of the tin of dog treats Dick kept under his bed. Ace had a feeling his diet wouldn't be so bad after all.


	3. Nighttime Worries

**I finally thought of something to write! Inspiration from the Dear Prudence advice column.**

* * *

><p>Bruce stood patiently in the bathroom door, supervising as Dick brushed his teeth. Although everything seemed normal, he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. And when it did, it was almost always around bed time.<p>

Dick had been unusually clingy that Saturday, barely giving Bruce space to go to the bathroom alone. It had started immediately after Bruce had picked Dick up at Oliver Queen's house. Bruce, of course, had regretted sending Dick to sleep over at Ollie's even before it had happened, but it had been his only option. With Alfred out of town, his own Friday night filled with tedious social obligations, and every other Leaguer unavailable, Ollie was the only babysitter Bruce had been able to find. Bruce had optimistically hoped things would work out alright because Dick would have Roy to play with, but it appeared something had gone wrong.

The World's Greatest Detective, however, didn't have a clue.

"All done!" the eight-year-old boy announced, grinning broadly to show Bruce his spiffy clean teeth.

"Good boy. Time for bed." Bruce gestured towards Dick's bedroom, which adjoined the bathroom.

A fleeting look of panic crossed Dick's face. "Can… can… can I sleep in your bed?"

"Then where am I going to sleep?" Bruce asked with an amused look on his face.

Dick gave an exasperated huff. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

"Aren't you getting a little old for that?"

"No!" Dick replied fiercely.

_Ahh_, Bruce thought. _Maybe he's afraid I'll leave him_. "You know, Dick it was just a temporary thing – you staying at Ollie's. He was the only babysitter I could find."

"I know that!" Dick was a tad miffed, as though Bruce had insulted his intelligence. "I know you'll never leave me."

"Then why can't you sleep in your own bed, chum?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

Dick looked at the floor. "I can't tell you."

Bruce ruffled Dick's hair in amusement. "I'm afraid that's not a very good reason, youngster."

"But it's Saturday! I don't have school tomorrow."

Bruce could feel his resolve crumbling.

"Please?" Dick fixed him with a pouty face and puppy-dog eyes.

"Okay, but just for tonight."

"Yippee!" Dick said, taking Bruce's hand and walking both of them out of his bedroom and into Bruce's. Bruce tucked Dick into his bed, then turned out the light and started to exit the room.

"Where are you going?" Dick asked, almost worriedly.

"Just to finish some paperwork," Bruce assured him.

"Okay." Dick snuggled deeper under the covers. "Don't stay up too late!" Dick added, sounding like his usual cheerful self.

"I won't." Bruce smiled as he left the room. Maybe everything was alright. Perhaps Dick had been clingy to make up for lost time on Friday. And what was the harm of letting the boy sleep with him for one night?

Except it wasn't one night. For the next four days, Dick insisted on sleeping with Bruce. He would cry and pitch a fit if Bruce tried to put him to bed alone in his own room. On Tuesday night, Bruce had (by some miracle) managed to get Dick to go to sleep in the boy's own room, but had awakened in the middle of the night to find Dick curled up next to him in the bed in the master bedroom. Since it was four in the morning Bruce didn't try to move Dick, but the older man could tell that a serious intervention was called for. Thank Heaven Alfred was returning on Thursday; Bruce didn't think he could solve this problem alone.

So when bedtime rolled around on Thursday, Bruce and Alfred had steeled their resolve. No matter how many tears Dick shed, they were going to get to the bottom of this mystery.

When Dick emerged from the bathroom with freshly-brushed teeth, Bruce was standing next to the boy's bed with the covers turned down.

"Ready for bed, chum?" he asked with a smile.

Dick glanced at his own bed, shifted uncomfortably, and then asked, like clockwork, "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Bruce sighed and sat down on Dick's bed. "Dickie, this has to stop. You have your own bed. You need to sleep in it."

Dick shook his head. "No."

"Why not?"

"I can't."

"You can't sleep in your own bed or you can't tell me why?"

Dick hesitated. "Both."

"Dick, this isn't going to work. You have to sleep in your own bed. You're too big to sleep with me."

Dick just closed his eyes and obstinately shook his head. "No. I won't sleep in here. I just can't."

As if on cue, Alfred smoothly slid through the doorway. "Now, Master Dick, is something the matter with your room?"

Dick looked up in surprise at Alfred's presence. "Noooo," he admitted slowly. "Nothing's wrong with _my_ room."

Alfred and Bruce both noticed Dick's emphasis on the word "my," and shared a bewildered glance.

"Is something wrong with Master Bruce's room?"

Dick avoided eye contact. "Maybe," he admitted, before hastily adding, "but I don't know."

Alfred and Bruce remained silent, knowing that Dick would be the first to feel awkward and break the quiet himself.

"And Alfred -. You should probably sleep with me and Bruce, too."

Okay, something was clearly going on. That was an unusual request, even for Dick.

"And why is that Master Dick?" Alfred asked gently.

"Well,…. It's safer."

"Safer than what, Dick?" Bruce patted the spot on the bed next to him, encouraging Dick to come sit down.

"Than sleeping separately," Dick replied, plopping down next to Bruce.

"And why is that, chum?" Bruce was beginning to feel relieved. Finally – he was getting somewhere!

"You probably won't believe me."

"You can tell me anything, Dick," Bruce said, simultaneously rubbing comforting circles on Dick's small back.

"So I can protect you from the demons."

"Demons?' Bruce and Alfred both gasped in shock.

Dick nodded his head vigorously. "There are demons that roam the earth at night, looking for people to kill. I have to protect you and Alfred, but I can't do it if we're not together. I can't let you die!"

To say Bruce was shocked was putting it mildly. "Dickie, demons aren't real."

"You only say that because you can't see them!"

"I can't?"

"No, only kids can see them. That's why I have to protect you and Alfred! Without me, you two might die!" Dick began to cry a little, fearful of Bruce and Alfred dying on him.

Bruce picked Dick up and placed him on his lap, gently shushing him in an effort to get him to calm down. "No demons are going to get me. I promise."

"But you can't promise," Dick wailed. "You can't even see them!"

"I do promise. I'm an experienced demon hunter."

"But… but… but how?" Dick blubbered. "Only kids can slay the demons. Roy said."

Bruce went rigid. "Roy said?" he demanded, a hard edge to his voice.

Dick misunderstood Bruce's sudden change of tone, mistakenly believing Bruce was angry with him. He began to cry harder. "Rrrrr…Roy said that only kids can kill the demons, and if I don't protect you from them you'll die. I don't want you to die Bruce!" Dick collapsed into a heap of tears. "I have to sleep with you or you'll dieeeeeeee." His voice trailed off into an agonized wail.

Bruce stood up, gathered Dick into his arms, and began to rock the eight-year-old as though Dick were a baby. "Shhh, shh, shh, Dick. Everything's going to be fine."

Dick sniffled. "Bbbbut the demons -?"

"Don't worry about the demons," Bruce cooed, holding Dick with one hand and patting his back with the other.

As Dick began to quiet down, even doze a little in Bruce's arms, the billionaire turned to Alfred.

"The phone, please."

"Right away, sir."

When Alfred returned, Ollie's number had been dialed and the phone was already ringing.

"Put it on speaker," Bruce instructed as he sat back down on the bed with a half-asleep Dick still in his arms.

"Hello. Oliver Queen speaking."

"Ollie, it's Bruce. Get Roy on the phone immediately."

"Well, hey there, Bruce. How's it going?"

"Ollie. Get Roy NOW!" Dick stirred in Bruce's arms and lifted his head up. Bruce adjusted the child so that he was sitting upright on his lap and could be a part of the conversation.

"Geez, alright," Ollie muttered. "Roy!" he could be heard yelling in the background. "ROY!"

"Hello?" Roy said tentatively a few moments later.

"Hello, Roy. This is Bruce Wayne. Would you care to explain your little theory about demons to me?"

"My what?" Roy's voiced cracked with terror.

"Your theory on demons. According to Dick, you told him that demons might kill me in my sleep and that only he could protect me."

"Well, I didn't mean it -."

"Did you say that or not?"

"Yes," Roy grumpily admitted.

"And would you care to explain why?"

"Because I thought it would be funny? I don't know."

"Well, it's not funny. Is it Dick?"

Dick sniffed loudly and leaned towards the phone.

"Aww, Dick is that you?" Roy asked before Dick could say anything. "Look, I didn't mean to scare you little buddy."

"Are the demons real?" Dick asked softly.

Roy sighed. "No," he admitted, actually sounding ashamed of himself. "I just made that story up to scare you. There are no demons."

"Are you sure?" Dick was still hesitant.

"Positive. Trust me, I don't protect Ollie. If demons were real, he'd have been dead a hundred times by now."

"ROY!" Bruce snapped.

"Sorry, sorry. Demons are not real, Dick. I promise."

"Pinkie swear?" Dick held his pinkie towards the phone.

To his credit, Roy didn't even question how one could pinkie-swear over the telephone. "Pinkie-swear. Demons are not real - cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye."

Finally, Dick seemed satisfied. "Okay. I forgive you for scaring me."

"Thank you, Dick. I appreciate that."

"Just a second, Roy," Bruce commanded. He gently lifted Dick off his lap, promised the protesting boy that he would be right back, and picked up the phone. Switching off speaker-phone, Bruce stalked out into the hallway.

"Roy," he hissed menacingly into the phone, "Dick may forgive you but I have not. If you ever, _ever_ scare my son again -."

"I got it! I got it!" Roy fearfully shrieked, not even permitting Bruce to finish his threat.

"Good. Then we're done here."

"Thank god," Roy breathed in relief. This had been the worst phone call of his life. "Bye, Bruce." And he hung up before Bruce could get in another word.

With a sigh, Bruce turned off the phone and retuned to Dick's room. The child looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes.

"Can I please sleep with you one more time?"

Bruce ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "Okay. But tomorrow night you're back in your own bed."

Dick nodded enthusiastically. "Okay. Deal."

Bruce picked Dick up and carried him down the hall to the master bedroom. Alfred followed, greatly relieved that the bedtime problem was solved.

But as Bruce tucked Dick into his bed, he added, "But Alfred has to sleep in his own room tonight. There just isn't room for three of us in this bed."


End file.
